


twilight but i write it and its better

by decaybunny



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decaybunny/pseuds/decaybunny
Summary: Bella Swan is a shy, miserable, cryptid-obsessed 20-something chasing a useless degree at a tiny college in a state she hates. One night, something breaks into her room. And it does it again. And again. And she doesn't stop it. Then, she meets Edward Cullen. There's something very strange about him, and she can't help but like it.basically, i wanted to rewrite twilight. bella is a weirdo and she loves cryptids and urban legends and spooky reddit stories. edward is a sweet and polite guy by day, a hungry, nasty trash monster by night. the cullens don't date each other. carslile is a malewife. jacob is the himbo bff. no more racism. edward and bella are both bisexy and trans gener. i am a genius for writing this.lots of love for my partner nick who helped me brainstorm and write funny little scenarios for this <3
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	twilight but i write it and its better

**Author's Note:**

> he he he i hope you like this <3 i should be ashamed but no this is just my guilty pleasure
> 
> also fun fact the only band I could find that bella canonically likes is linkin park so I referenced it

I drive to Olympia with the windows up and the heater blasting, wearing three layers of warm clothes. Washington state molders year-round under a constant cloud of rain, save for the three or so months of snow that starts around late November. When I stop at a traffic signal, I breathe hot air on the window to my side and trace the shape of a little alien in the pale fog. When I pull up at the next stop, it's gone.

I don’t like the cold. One could even say I detest it. I grew up in Arizona, and I loved the cloudless skies and the blistering heat and the sprawling desert. I spent my childhood trapping scorpions in my lunchbox and watching spiders crawl over my bedroom window. But for the past few years, I’ve been living with my divorced father in a tiny, inconsequential town called Forks. Forks has a population of less than four-thousand and about two sunny days a year. Charlie (my father) and I lived in a rickety old little two-bedroom one-bathroom house with creaky stairs and constant leaks. The walls were covered with old photographs, many of which uncomfortably featured my (also divorced) mother.

My life in Forks was as paltry as the town itself. I vaguely befriended a few of my classmates, following them on their day trips to the overcast beach and drinking cheap beer with them in the forest. But for the years I lived in Forks, I never felt like I belonged. I couldn’t wait to move back to Arizona in my senior year, but my mother decided she would continue her new life in Florida. So I stayed in Forks. And then Charlie pushed me to go to college.

Enter Olympia. Washington state capital, population of forty-six-thousand or so, and home to a handful of little colleges. I picked out Evergreen State College at random. 

The town is littered with evergreen trees, the hue shifting from emerald green to an early September yellow. My rusty red truck chugs along the main road, rain beating down on the windshield. I fiddle with the volume knob on the car’s CD player, Chester Bennington’s voice fading into the steady beat of rain on the truck. It doesn’t take me long to locate my campus in the small town, and from that, my dorm. I check in with a middle-aged receptionist with tired eyes who directs me to the campus housing and hands me my student ID and a keycard. 

My room is 107D. It’s on the left side of the first story. I quietly loathe the number of noise complaints I’ll have to make in the future due to my inevitably loud upstairs neighbors. I set down my backpack on the bed and my suitcase on the floor, taking in the gloomy atmosphere of the room.

The bed is situated right under the window and is made of cheap, yellowing wood. There’s a matching desk, chair, and wardrobe lined up against the wall opposite the bed. Strung up over the window is a pair of metal blinds. The floor is made from dark, slightly scuffed vinyl wood planks, and the walls are painted a white color similar in hue to the furniture.

Before I can even begin to unpack, I sit on the mattress and pull my chunky, sticker-covered red laptop from my backpack. I shoot Charlie, my mother, and my best friend Jacob a trio of admittedly lazy emails, briefly talking about the campus, the dorm, and the weather. When I’m done, I dump the laptop on the desk and zip open my fat purple suitcase. 

By the time I’m done unpacking, the room is sparse, but very me. A plethora of posters hang on the wall, my favorites being the Green Day and X-Files posters. There are a few polaroids, mostly me with my parents, me with Jacob, or my mom’s dog, Archie. I’ve strung up a 2008 calendar filled with dumb-yet-charming cat pictures. My closet is messily stocked with my clothes, mostly hoodies, thick parkas, goofy second-hand shirts I got from Charlie, and my favorite long skirts. My empty suitcase is hastily shoved under the bed. My duvet cover is patterned with stars, and my bed is inhabited by my stuffed cow, Muffin.

When I’m finally settled, it’s around 6:30. I close my window, muffling the sound of crickets outside, and finally, I notice the sounds of talking and commotion coming from the common room. I creak the door open and poke my head out, looking down the hallway. Of course, it’s just my roommates, having some kind of welcoming party. I’m delighted at the smell of pizza, so I gather all my courage and head down the L-shaped hallway into the common room.

I find myself in a rectangular room, with a small kitchenette in one corner, a circular dining table flanked by four chairs, and two worn-out couches facing a chunky television set. There are five people in the room: a girl and a guy are sitting at the dining table, chatting animatedly. The girl has very dark, curly hair, and the guy is tan with shaggy brown hair. On the couch are two girls and a guy. The guy has dark skin and a stylish black jacket, and one of the girls has dyed blonde hair. 

The second girl is incredibly striking. She’s extremely pale, like a sheet of bleach-white paper, with a messy black pixie cut. I’ve barely even stepped in the room when her eyes flicker over to me, and a pleasant smile spreads across her doll-like face. She gracefully gets up off the couch and walks over to me. 

“Hey! You must be the other roommate!” She reaches out a thin hand and gently claps my arm. She gesticulates wildly as she talks, threatening to spill the contents of her red plastic cup. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“Uh,” I attempt to match her wide, white-toothed grin, “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too. Um, do you live in this dorm?”

“Haha, nope! I live off-campus. I’m just here party surfing.”

“Uh… party surfing?”

“Yeah! Party surfing! You know, it’s the first night of the semester, there are parties all around campus, and I know tons of people, so I try to go to all the parties I can. Lydia, she’s one of your roommates, me and her are pals, so I figured I’d stop by. Between you and me, though,” she leans in almost uncomfortably close, “this one is a little lonely. I might get out of here soon.”

“Oh,” I say, “Um, well, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too!” She flashes another bright white smile, sets her drink down on the nearest surface, and steps past me. I realize quickly that I rudely didn’t ask her name, and turn around to stop her, but she’s already left. I frown and decide to ignore it. I'll ask her next time I see her. My stomach growls, demanding margarita pizza, and I walk over to the dining table. I notice the girl’s drink on the kitchen counter, and the liquid inside is untouched.

I fill up on pizza and garlic bread and meet my roommates. I find out that the blonde girl is Lydia, and is majoring in environmental studies. So is her boyfriend, the guy with the stylish jacket, who I find out is named Zane. At the dining table, I meet Adeba, a computer science major, and Cohen, a visual arts major. For most of the night, I simply nod and quietly listen to my roommates talk about themselves. I find out that Zane was born in Australia, and Adeba works part-time at a local pet shop. Lydia talks at length about the sheer amount of people she knows, and in my haze of shyness, I neglect to ask her the name of the mystery girl. I don’t like to drink, but when I talk to Cohen, he keeps sweetly and drunkenly offering me drinks, so I oblige. By the end of the night, I head back to my room, eyes heavy and face warm and flushed.

I shimmy off my jeans, plug my phone in to charge, and crack open the window a sliver to let in some fresh air. I’m glad when I don’t hear the pitter-patter of rain, the sound of which makes me feel anxious. I bury myself under my sheets, reveling in the warmth of it, and quickly find myself lost in sleep.

In the middle of the night, I hear a creak. I don’t wake up. I feel a cold breeze. I don’t wake up. I feel a light pressure on the end of my bed. I don’t wake up. I hear rustling, an animalistic growl, and the sound of something being knocked over. I wake up.

In the dark I see an eerie glow. I sit up slowly, and the glow flickers towards me. It’s a pair of eyes. Gold eyes. A figure is crouched over the wastebasket by my desk, the only contents of which is a dirty napkin from dinner and a few dead flies I swept up while cleaning. I try to make out the figure in the darkness, but it hisses, and darts with an unsettling speed towards the window. I just barely make out the glint of white off of its sharp teeth in the moonlight before it’s gone, and I’m alone.

I close the window and I go back to sleep.

It was just a dream. I’m sure of it.


End file.
